


Hyung

by taedreamer



Category: GOT7
Genre: Abuse, Angst, Character Death, Child Abuse, Hospitals, M/M, Poverty, i wrote this a long time ago so sorry if parts don't make sense, it made me sad, mark isn't actually in this he's just mentioned through the whole thing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-27
Updated: 2016-12-27
Packaged: 2018-09-12 16:46:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,980
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9081013
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/taedreamer/pseuds/taedreamer
Summary: Jinyoung tried not to think about how to the woman, Mark was just another sob story. How to her, Mark was nothing more than a basket case that was born to a helpless mother and bastard father.
Mark was worth so much more than that.





	

**Author's Note:**

> i'm sorry i haven't posted in seriously 4 months i'm just getting my stuff together so hopefully ill be on more often
> 
> also if you read I Saw You and you're mad b/c i never update: i'm sorry!!!!!
> 
> okay and i wrote this almost 6 months ago so i'm sorry it's bad and enjoy!

"You have to be alright, hyung, okay?" The younger held the others hand in his own, voice quivering as he spoke. Machines beeped in the background and far away noises echoed from the sterile hallway, hidden by a heavy metal door. It was metaphorical, how much everyone tried to keep the horrors of what was in the room hidden from the rest of the world. He wanted to be that clueless, to not know this particular situation far too well; to not have had to sit there and hold a bruised hand through the night so many times before. 

"Please wake up soon." He looked over the others features, scratched and bleeding slowly. He looked nothing like he should, his usual happy and soft demeanor quite literally beaten out of him, bleached hair faded and sticking up every which way. The hair dye had been Jinyoung's idea. Mark told him it would be stupid on him, but Jinyoung full heartedly disagreed.

"I need you to be okay, I need you to wake up." He gave a quiet sob, his grip tightening enough to leave crescent shaped moons on the other's cold, blue skin. Jinyoung never could remember to trim his nails properly. Mark always had to remind him. Mark reminded him to do most things. Mark took care of him, and he shouldn't have had to, but Jinyoung never wanted it to change.

Jinyoung let out a pathetic whine as his shoulders shook, all fast and heartbreaking jerks with none of the usual grace he liked to pride himself on. His ears were ringing and there was a pain in his chest blaring obnoxiously loud, like an angry horn before a car crash. The sound of his love flat lining was still at the forefront of his mind, even after the machine had been unplugged. Even after the doctors told him that there was no hope, that his father had seriously done it this time. Even after the police had arrived for questioning, their words not the least bit concerned over the loss of Jinyoung's entire reason to live.

Eventually the questions were fired less often, until not at all, and the bored men in blue uniforms left with grumbled condolences and agonizingly cold cups of coffee in hand. He assumed time had passed since then, probably enough to warrant the end of visiting hours. He didn't care. Jinyoung sat still, head against paper sheets and hand knotted through plaster-frozen fingers. The blood under Mark's fingernails had dried by then, leaving something else for the coroner to use as evidence later on. 

Jinyoung couldn't afford a working watch and his old prepaid phone had been broken for nearly a month, so he had no idea what time it was when the door reopened. All he knew was the sun hadn't shone through the small frosted window yet. It hadn't for months really. Not on Jinyoung, and certainly not on Mark. This was no exception.

A nurse appeared beside him, obviously pitying and experienced in dealing with other's grief. Jinyoung tried not to think about how to the woman, Mark was just another sob story. How to her, Mark was nothing more than a basket case that was born to a helpless mother and bastard father.

Mark was worth so much more than that. Mark was worth so much more than even Jinyoung gave him credit for. Mark was a friend, there to remind Jinyoung to eat when he should and bath everyday (even if he had to go to the community pool and use the cheap showers they had in the locker rooms). Mark made sure he did his homework, despite how much Jinyoung loathed public school. Mark always paid for Jinyoung's lunch when his mother didn't have any money to send with him that day, even though Jinyoung hated it.

Jinyoung liked to think, even as the nurse was telling him that he needed to let his friend go, that he wasn't coming back, that he appreciated that aspect of Mark. He thanked him every night when he lent him some change for a fifty cent burger. Jinyoung hugged him after he was done yelling at him because, "I'm poor Mark, I'm not fucking useless." Jinyoung wouldn't be able to survive without Mark there taking care of him, and he knew it.

But it didn't quell the nagging suspicion that he didn't love Mark to the fullest extent. He didn't hold his hand as surely as he should have after he bandaged the cuts on his cheek. He didn't kiss all of the bruises on Mark's arm because if his dad ever found out, there would be too many to care for. He didn't tell him that he loved him, at least not when Mark needed it the most. Jinyoung was always scared of it, the way he knew he cared for Mark more than just a good dongsaeng should, more than a friend or a brother would be comfortable with, more than Mark's father would allow. It started as an undying fear of being caught. A fear of getting Mark caught in the middle of the night when they make plans to meet up by the duck pond off of Fourth Street or in the abandoned warehouse on Seventh. A fear of giving that bastard another reason to lay a finger on Mark.

But despite this fear, despite everything really, the two never drifted. They didn't part ways when it all became too hard to handle and too humiliating to live with. Jinyoung would sit there on the damp grass by that same pond all night long whenever Mark called him sobbing. He would bandage the cuts that littered Mark's face and then he would card shaking fingers through greasy hair and he would take care of his best friend no matter what happened. And on the days where Jinyoung screamed until his lungs burned with needles because Mark wouldn't tell the police, the two would stare at each other for a long time. They would both cry with their arms wrapped loosely around themselves. And Mark would explain for the thousandth time that he'd rather be beaten to death than put into the foster system because, "They would do worse things to me there than my father ever will. And I wouldn't have you anymore, Jinyoungie."

But it went both ways, so on some days Jinyoung would furiously refuse money for food from Mark and throw his cell phone at a concrete wall because, "I'm not a charity case! Go fix your own damn problems and leave mine the fuck alone!" Mark would let him scream and insult and cry and terrorize all of Jinyoung's own neighbors until he couldn't breathe and found himself in a shameful heap on a stained carpet. Only then would the elder silently inch his way onto the floor and wrap a pair of bruise stained arms around a skinny torso. Jinyoung hated those days, hated the way Mark had to hold him and say everything would be alright for the panic in his lungs to die down. He always hated how weak he felt, but now Jinyoung missed it more than anything. Because Mark was dead on a sterilized mattress and he wasn't ever going to get to have those arms around him again.

He wouldn't get to skip rocks with him at the duck pond or teach him the moves to a new girl group dance that they saw on a television in some junk shop. Jinyoung wouldn't get to give Mark another hair cut, because his hair grew too fast and nobody could afford to get it done. They wouldn't be able to steal half price candy together from the convenience store where the clerk pretended not to notice how thin they both were. But above all, Jinyoung wouldn't be able to say how much he loved him, wouldn't be able to say everything he has needed to for so long. 

The nurse had called in a security guard who was insisting he leave. They were sorry for his loss. But he wasn't family. And they would need to send the body away for cleaning and maintaining.

Mark didn't have any family to cry for him and he certainly didn't have anyone to pay for a funeral. Jinyoung wouldn't see him again. This would be it. So Jinyoung looked down at the face of the boy who he had failed, the boy who he had loved with all his heart and promised would live to graduate high school. He looked at how a thin, dried trail of blood escaped through the crease of his lips and reached a trembling hand up to gently wipe it away. His face was always too beautiful for the way his father marred it. And even as Jinyoung let out a few final sobs and left a lasting kiss to the back of Mark's cold hand, he was still beautiful.

The rest of the machines had all long been unplugged and that left the room eerily quiet when Jinyoung finally stood. The guard was waiting by the door with a coffee stained shirt clinging unflatteringly around his middle, but even he was deathly silent. Jinyoung was thankful for the quiet, although he would never be able to admit it. He was inching his way from the hospital chairs and staring at the floor with a lost glint in his eyes. If he looked back again he knew he would cry. And although Jinyoung couldn't be bothered with what that would look like, he also knew he wouldn't be able to leave his hyung. The guard would have to restrain him and drag Jinyoung out kicking and screaming because, "Let go of me! I love him! I'm all he has! Let me fucking go!" Mark wouldn't want that. And so Jinyoung made his way to the heavy door with a quivering lip and glazed eyes that weren't ready for a world without Mark.

The guard held it open with a sickeningly sympathetic smile that Jinyoung had to pretend he didn't see because he wasn't going to accept pity. He had gone this long with nothing but Mark there to hold him up when life knocked him down. That wasn't going to change because of some drunken bastard of a father and a punctured lung.

Walking down the hall was slow and menacing with all of the people around him carrying on with a blissful ignorance to what had just happened. But Mark was gone, and Jinyoung was never going to see the world with that same ignorance. He would never get the beeping out of his head and the sickening smell off of his mind. So as the boy finally made it down and through the sliding doors and out into the cold November air, he allowed the reality of it all to hit him once again. The tears were back and stinging against the cold of his pale cheeks. His legs felt weak and Jinyoung doesn’t think it really mattered when they finally gave out, leaving him slouched on a hard and unforgiving sidewalk. People stared as they passed by and a woman tried to talk to him and ask if he needed help, but Jinyoung’s red rimmed eyes were locked on the miserable grey building in front of him.

He wondered what Mark would say if he saw him now, pants soaked from the puddle he’d landed in and hands numb from how hard he’d been clenching them. Probably something funny, but maybe something sad. Jinyoung didn’t know, but he would wait an eternity for the chance to have Mark say anything again. He already knew what he would answer him with, because it was falling from trembling lips and into his bitter cold palms.

"I've always loved you. I'm so sorry, hyung."

**Author's Note:**

> leave comments and kudos please! love you all!


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